I've gotten lots of terrific advice about the upcoming Avon Walk. I have heeded exactly some of it. My 39.9 mile adventure is a couple of weeks away and I have taken my new walking shoes out on a few trial runs around the neighborhood. A few means three. Around the neighborhood means around the block a couple of times, but to be fair the blocks are kind of long-ish. Jeff firmly believes that I'm in denial about this whole endeavor. That is a distinct possibility.
The new walking shoes feel great. They are, however, not great looking. They are big white marshmallow shoes that remind me of the white Reeboks Jazzercise-style numbers I wore the summer of 1983 when I worked at The Red Onion in Beverly Hills. The Mexican restaurant had a sports theme. Waiters wore basketball uniforms, waitresses were cheerleaders, busboys wore baseball pants and jerseys. I was a hostess and so was made to wear a referee uniform, which made sense in food chain logic except that it also made me look as if I was moonlighting at Footlocker.
Related: It is impossible to get the smell of cheap salsa out of polyester.
I know these pristine white shoes will be my tell of unpreparedness at the big event. I am contemplating running them over with the car a few times just to make them look a little more worn in. Or I could just walk in them more. Decisions.